Wednesday, June 5

Illustration Friday: Sweet


Hello strangers! I've been absent for some time, in fact, my last post was the 19th January! Well, I have been keeping busy, I set up a Dad Blog called I'm Not Babysitting and it's going rather well (if you click on the image it will take you there)

This is my entry for Illustration Friday's prompt, 'sweet' because my little man is the sweetest little bugger there is! (but if one more person says, 'Oh you're babysitting, how sweet!' I'm going to go mental, I'm Not Babysitting! He's my son!)

Wednesday, January 16

Sambo

we always call our little boy a monkey, well here he is...
sketch

Colour

Desert Rat

My grandad was a Desert Rat in North Africa during WWII
I wrote a poem about it called Grandad was a Rat.
This quick sketch is the inkling of an idea....

Monday, January 14

Illustration Friday: Ocean

This is Sue Austin...
  Well, it's a pretty shonky illustration of Sue, taken from her amazing TED video...
I had no idea what to draw for this month's Illustration Friday prompt; Ocean. Then I got a newsletter from TED directing me to Sue's talk. Completely mindblowing. She challenges all the stereotypes of what it means to need a wheelchair... she created art using the chair and she rigged another chair to a scuba outfit allowing her full 360 degrees of motion underwater. It's amazing stuff and I urge you to watch it.


I was also happy to see the creator of one of my favourite blogs sat in the audience, Noelle Stevenson of Gingerhaze... 

Friday, January 11

Bottle Throwing Bogan's and the Beer-Bush

We recently moved across town into an estate that has been touted at 'the place to raise a family'. The house is lovely, the garden is massive, the estate is quiet, but it's like they built it, sold it, and then forgot about it. The beautiful paths and man-made lake are never tended, completely overgrown and covered in litter. It's really quite sad. The missus and I are going to go clean it up but there's another problem; the bottle-throwing bogans. The have a beer as they walk their dogs (as I do every now and then) but they then just leave their bottles lying around all over the footpath and in the verge. Perhaps they're hoping they'll grow a beer-bush?

Sunday, January 6

Saturday, December 29

Illustration Friday: New (plus a request for help!)


I've never used a Tablet before... the above is the very first thing I've attempted. It's a Wacom Bamboo thingummy It's very cool but so far about all I can appreciate is its shiny and black... if you have any advice or can point me to any useful tutorials, please comment!
Thank you

Wednesday, December 12

'Twas the Night Before Christmas... (according to a Pom in Australia)


‘twas the night before Christmas, and out on the farm
an Englishman was drinking and spinning a yarn
tales of white Christmas and frost on the trees
we’ll get none of that here, its bloody forty degrees!

the stockings are wilting by the chimney with heat
where the cookies have melted, waiting for Santa to eat
the milk would’ve curdled during the long night watch
so Saint Nick asked the kids to leave a nice glass of scotch.

I’d love to say, that all through the house
not a creature was stirring not even a mouse
but the squeal of the cat and a short sharp snap
tells of another bloody rodent, caught in the trap

the horses in the paddock, all winnie and neigh
and bash the hell outta the dogs, who get in their way
the frogs cling to the walls and croak through the night
luring sleepy, barefoot drunks to step in their… shi…

…ning… lights on the windows and wrapped round the tree
glittering a merry old Christmas for you and for me.
The children were screaming, now banished to bed
threats of no presents, haunting their heads

Mamma’s exhausted, but still got plenty to wrap,
while I sit on my arse, pretending to nap,
when on the veranda, there arose a hell of a noise
I crawled from my seat, tripping on broken old toys

Away to the door, I stumbled and fell
tore open the screens and let out a yell
‘Get back you bastard’ I screamed at the dog
and tried not to vomit, as I stepped on a frog

He’s off over the paddock, chasing a horse
but all the commotion is from a different source
To my wondering eyes, there appears by the light of the moon
a fat bloke in a singlet, holding a half bag of goon

On the back of a ride-on, he draws closer and slower
hiccups and coughs and steps down from his mower
the engine is busted, all battered and worn
but eight ponies are harnessed and the mower is drawn

by these mangy old beasts, who stand under the stars
wearing those fake reindeer antlers, wankers put on their cars.
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick
no else would go out, looking like such a dick

He stood there and called his eight ponies by name
he whistled and shouted and onwards they came
“Now, Donny! now, Fred! now, Ernie and Gambler!
On, Pepsi! on, Diesel! on,  Annie and Cracker!

To the top of the carport! To the top of the shed!
Now dash away, dash away, I give you your head!”
As the Kookaburra’s laugh when they soar and they fly,
so the ponies they whinnied as they leapt to the sky

With a mower full of toys, and the fat Santa too
up in the air, to the rooftop they flew.
Then, like a Possum, scratching round on the roof
came the sound of a mower and the sound of each hoof

As I drew closed the door and turned round in the gloom
there stood Ole’ Drunk Nick on the far of the room
Dressed in his singlet, old boardies and thongs
he stood by the aircon just like he belonged

A swag full of toys he had slung on his back
but he looked like a hobo just out for the crack
His eyes – how they sparkled! - like he’d had too much rum
and over the top of his boardies poked his jolly red bum

His cheeks were all flushed and as red as his nose
but after a beer in each house, yours would too I suppose
A dog-end rollie, he had hung from his lips
the smoke clung to his beard and wreathed through the tips

He was a bit of a porker and covered in dirt
his big fat belly peeking under his shirt
I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself
and reached for the bottle I keep on the shelf

‘If you’re having one, I better pour one out too’
he looked at his glass and hiccupped ’ve jusht had a few’
He raised his glass in a half-hearted salute
then to his lips and straight down the chute

He rolled out the swag and I admit I did frown
it looked like the bludger was going to lay down
but out of the swag rolled a collection of toys
plenty for girls and of course , plenty for boys

he filled up the stockings, then picked the swag off the floor
mumbled ‘m a little too pished, can I pleashe ushe the door?’
Santa walked and he stumbled out into the night
(while rolling a smoke and bumming a light)

‘Come, Gambler!’ he shouted to the team on the roof
and the ponies flew down with many a clattering hoof
He climbed on the mower, threw the swag on the back
picked up the stockwhip and gave it a crack

and Santa exclaimed as they soared out of sight
“Merry Christmas to all, let’s get pissed up tonight!”

Sunday, November 11

Grandad was a Rat! (a poem)

Grandad was a Rat!

I laughed out loud when I first heard
That Grandad was a desert rat
With a long tail and pointy ears!
A rat!
Imagine that!
I pictured him with twitching nose
And whiskers on his face
Grandad crouching in sandy holes
Hidden from the human race
But Grandad did not have pointy ears
Instead he wore a hat
And he didn’t have a twitching nose
He was not that kind of rat.
Grandad rarely mentions it
He’s a quiet sort of guy
And Dad says ‘Don’t ask Nanna,
As it nearly makes her cry’
You see there was a place, years ago
On some distant sandy shore
When Grandad was a young man
He was fighting in a war
‘Wow! Cool! That sounds ace!
So what did Grandad do?’
But Dad just smiled sadly
And said, ‘he fought for me and you’.

One bright sunny day,
While Grandad was sitting in his chair
And everyone else was in the yard
I thought that I would dare
To ask him that question, which to
My dad I had swore
Never to ask Grandad; ‘what happened
In the war?’
I thought he hadn’t heard me
As he reached for a cigar
And he didn’t say a word
but picked up my toy car.

‘You know Alex’, he said eventually
In the deep voice I loved to hear
‘I drove a car, just like this, to keep you safe
My dear’

I didn’t really understand him
Because at the time I wasn’t there
And I was just about to ask him
When he lifted me to his chair
We sat there in golden silence
and I could feel him breathing deep
he was quiet for the longest time
and I thought he’d gone to sleep
But he was looking at the pictures
The black and white photos on his shelf
And I had to ask him one last thing
I just couldn’t help myself
‘Grandad’, I asked so quietly,
‘Were you a hero in the war?’
‘No’, he whispered back to me,

‘but all my friends were’





Saturday, November 10

Illustration Friday: Tree

"Everybody is a genius.
But if you judge a fish by its ability to
climb a tree,
it will live its whole life
believing that it is stupid"
Accredited to Albo


Friday, November 9

Illustration Friday: Shy

A last minute sketch for last week's Illustration Friday prompt; Shy.
Inspired by my little girl; who is the most gregarious, outrageous and chaotic little miss, 
but every now and then, she has to hide behind Daddy because she's shy.

Saturday, October 20

Illustration Friday: Sky (Bin-Bag Parachutes)


My entry for this week's Illustration Friday prompt: Sky. Sadly, this is a true story. It seemed like a great idea at the time. I ended up with a broken ankle. But my friends thought it was great!


Friday, October 19

Running Away



I used to threaten to run away when I was a kid. Not sure why, I had a great childhood, guess it was just a tantrum. My two older sisters never left much room for me to take it too seriously though. They even packed for me on one occasion! 
I think I prefer the black and white to the colour

Sunday, October 14

Friday, October 12

Sunday, September 30

The Wild Things Are in a School

The finished product (I think, I always second guess myself... it wasn't even supposed to be in colour)

Wednesday, September 19

Where the Wild Things Are - a school!

Where have I been? Where the Wild Things Are... unsurprisingly, in a school...
(click on images for bigger pictures)

 




I had the honour of looking after a senior creative arts class while my good friend was recovering from a nasty car crash (recovering doesn't cut it... miracle, power-of-the-human-spirit, freaking sensational Rolling Stones-esque comeback tour!) and the students were decorating the walls of the art room with murals. There was a large high section no-one could reach so they asked me to have a crack. Not sure why I chose Where the Wild Things Are... there are many reasons... but I can't quite describe how awesome it has been to spend a few hours each day with interesting and engaging teenagers who are excited about what they are doing. Listening to cool music and talking about anything and everything; nonsense and sincere.
Soul Food.